


Are You 1? Are You 2? Are You 228?

by fandomfan



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfan/pseuds/fandomfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear entire-fucked-up-but-we-love-you-anyway-institution-of-the-United-States-Marine-Coooooorps, happy birthday to you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You 1? Are You 2? Are You 228?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [perpet_fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic)'s prompt [here](http://combat-jack.livejournal.com/43565.html): _Ray/Nate, how they celebrate [the Marine Corps' November 10 birthday] after they're both out of the Marines._

College students can suck Ray’s ever-ready dick.

Sure, he’s one of them, but that’s a GI Bill technicality. Most of those little baby tree-fuckers are nothing but whining and blind idealism, and holy mother of Dale Earnhardt, most of the time the world—and of more immediate concern, Ray’s life—would be better off if they’d just shut the fuck up.

This is very much the usual mindset for poor, put-upon Ray Person when he comes home from his Tuesday study group evenings. He actually kind of looks forward to it all week, because it’s when some of his most creative ranting gets done, and he’s got this audience of one at home, see, who’s better than a whole room full of anyone else on Earth.

He’s already worked up some choice bits for said audience on his drive home, and as he walks in the door, he lets the first one fly.

“Garrett and Di should seriously consider fucking– Holy frozen shit on a stick dipped in chocolate!”

OK, Ray knows this doesn’t make sense in any way, shape, or form, but you try holding onto your train of thought when you walk in on the sight Ray’s greeted with in his living room.

Said sight is one very present and correct United States Marine Captain standing at attention in full dress blues.

Ray whistles so long that he runs out of breath.

“See something you like, Person?” asks the perfectly turned-out Marine who shares Ray’s bed.

“Sir, yes fucking sir,” Ray says.

One corner of Nate’s mouth twitches oh-so-minutely up.

Ray reels his tongue back up into his mouth—that’s not a metaphor, by the way... he’s literally drooling over Nate here—and adds, “Not that you don’t make the ole Class A’s look sexier than a hot-tub of Hustler centerfolds, but what’s the occasion?”

Nate gasps in exaggerated dismay. “Look at this disgrace of a Devil Dog! Forgetting what illustrious day this is! My, how civilian living does make a man soft.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Ray says, smacking his own forehead before singing, quick and off-key, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear entire-fucked-up-but-we-love-you-anyway-institution-of-the-United-States-Marine-Coooooorps, happy birthday to you!”

A thought occurs to him.

“As a former Marine, it’s my big day, too. Are you here to give me my birthday spanking?” Such eagerness is probably conduct unbecoming. Whatever. Ray’s out. He can conduct himself unbecomingly whenever the hell he likes.

Nate’s out, too, of course. But right now, buttoned and polished to within an inch of his life, he looks like something straight out of a USMC recruiting campaign’s wet dream.

“A birthday spanking could certainly be arranged,” Nate says, his smirk still contained to the twitching edges of his mouth.

Ray pumps a fist in the air and says, “I think I saw a porno like this once.”

Now Nate smiles openly and steps out to a posture Ray immediately dubs Sexass Parade Rest. It’s regular parade rest but with Nate’s crotch shoved forward, his cover tilted rakishly to one side, and one eyebrow raised suggestively. Yeah... this is a porn scenario to which Ray can give his full- and deep-throated support.

“And what happened in that porno, Corporal?” Nate asks.

Ray starts slowly walking toward Nate as he says, “Hmm... if I remember right, the big strapping officer guy made the scrawny enlisted dude suck his dick, like, forever, and then stripped the grunt’s clothes off and fucked him ‘til he didn’t even remember the names of his useless college classmates anymore.”

“And did the officer guy keep his blues on the whole time?” Nate asks devilishly.

“Oh fuck, Nate, _yeah_ ,” Ray breathes. “Yeah, now that you mention it, he did.” That is one pretty goddamn mental picture right there.

“Then I suggest you get over here,” Nate says in that Command voice of his that still, to this day, is one of the few things in Ray’s life that makes him want to follow orders.

“Yes, sir,” Ray says, settling himself nice and quick on his knees before Nate. “Sir! Commencing blowjob, sir,” he unbuckles and unzips, and if the evening’s second rendition of _Happy Birthday_ is hummed, it’s only because Ray is finally learning not to talk with his mouth full.


End file.
